


just fucking leave me alone (stay)

by strandedonthemoon



Series: does it ever get better? (a journey through self-harm) [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Family Issues, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark Coparenting Peter Parker, Mentioned May Parker (Spider-Man), Mild Blood, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Protective Tony Stark, The Author Wishes Her Readers The Recovery They Deserve, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 14:37:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20391322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strandedonthemoon/pseuds/strandedonthemoon
Summary: Tony sighed, then stepped close enough to take Peter's hand. Peter, who was slightly taller than him, clad in pajamas and his MIT sweater, sleeves rolled up to showcase bandages seeping in blood. And he suddenly couldn't find his voice."Can-" he tried, but then stopped because his words shook and tears were filling his eyes and he couldn't look at him. At Peter, who, despite still clutching his hand, looked like he wanted to run away.He opted for whispering instead, so his voice wouldn't break. "Can we talk?"Reading the previous parts is very very highly recommended. You probably won't get this otherwise.





	just fucking leave me alone (stay)

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: please check the tags. please please please check the tags. this fic is violent and potentially triggering so please take care. 
> 
> trigger warnings include: referenced sexual assault, referenced self-harm, referenced alcoholism, referenced death of a family member, drug use, blood and violent family dynamics. if any of these trigger you, then this may not be the fic for you.
> 
> stay safe babes.

Tony woke up on the bathroom floor in the early morning, and he was alone. Where there was once a warmth by his side that can only be created by a boy sleeping next to him was now replaced with empty, cold air, and he wondered how he could have missed Peter waking up. 

Peter waking up early wasn't particularly unusual; when he was having a good day he was usually the first one up, like a little kid on Christmas. But Tony knew this wasn't going to be a good day and he knew Peter wouldn't have woken up so early if he didn't plan on leaving as fast as he can manage, so he scrambled off the floor and left the bathroom with finding Peter in mind. 

It didn't take him long- he found Peter by the doorway, tying up his shoelaces. His back was facing Tony, but he was hunched like he was going to curl in on himself. Like he couldn't carry his own weight. 

"Kid," Tony whispered, but that was enough to make Peter turn and face him, bloodshot eyes and all. 

"Hey, Mr. Stark!" Peter stood up in fake surprise. "Sorry for the whole fiasco yesterday. Crazy, right? But I really gotta run-"

"Peter."

"What?"

Tony sighed, then stepped close enough to take Peter's hand. Peter, who was slightly taller than him, clad in pajamas and his MIT sweater, sleeves rolled up to showcase bandages seeping in blood. And he suddenly couldn't find his voice. 

"Can-" he tried, but then stopped because his words shook and tears were filling his eyes and he couldn't look at him. At Peter, who, despite still clutching his hand, looked like he wanted to run away. 

He opted for whispering instead, so his voice wouldn't break. "Can we talk?"

Peter pulled his hand away and turned his head, clenching his jaw. 

"Please?" the older man tried again, and he sighed when Peter nodded, albeit reluctantly.

They sat down in the living room, Peter on the couch and Tony on the floor across from him, with Peter looking at anything but him. 

God, Tony wanted a shot right now. Just to calm his nerves. But he wasn't going to do that, not today, not ever and _not_ in front of Peter, so he clenched his fists to stop them from shaking and took a deep breath. 

"What happened yesterday?"

* * *

How was he supposed to answer that? How did Tony expect him to fucking answer that?

Peter shifted in his seat and looked down and his hands as a sudden wave of anger flew in him. How dare he ask that like Peter had a tangible fucking clue about what happened? 

God, he shouldn't have taken those four Vicodin pills before he started leaving, because the high was starting to hit him and he didn't want it ruined by Tony's fucking interrogation. But what was he supposed to do, just sit there in silence? What was he supposed to tell him? The truth?

Ned always said that Peter was an angry drunk, but he didn't know he could get angry while high, too. 

"Peter?"

Fucking hell, he had to say something. 

But then he looked at Tony- really looked at him- and he couldn't lie to him. He didn't want to. And he was so tired. He just wanted someone to take some of the burden from him. And if that was Tony, then by God, let him. 

"I-uh, I had a dream," he began before he could really catch his breath, his voice low and surprisingly even. "About the night when I, you know-"

"I know-" Tony said, and by the look on his face, he was haunted by it, too. Peter looked down before he could continue.

"And I just, I couldn't stop feeling hands when I woke up. All over me. Pushing me at that party. Touching me in ways I didn't want to be touched. I can't stop thinking about it."

Tony closed his eyes, which actually made it easier to continue.

"I keep remembering more and more as time goes on, which sounds crazy but it's true. And I hate it, because I don't want to know."

"At least-" Tony began, then cleared his throat. "At least that girl, Nathania, called Happy before anything else could happen."

"Yeah," Peter huffed, something between a frustrated groan and a sigh, turning away from his mentor. He was way too high for this conversation. 

* * *

He wasn't telling the truth. He wasn't telling the whole truth and he thought Tony couldn't fucking tell and it was _killing_ him. There's something wrong with his boy and he _doesn't know what_. 

"Kid, can you please look at me?" he asked, voice soft. But Peter didn't look at him, his jaw still clenched and his eyes still steely, his mind void from his body. Tony took Peter's chin in his hand and turned his face towards him, the questions, the reassurances, the love, everything on the tip of his tongue. 

But when he looked at the boy, really looked at him, he could see what he was keeping. He could see it in the flush of his face and the size of his dilated, bloodshot pupils and his runny nose. In his even voice and distant mind. 

"Are you fucking high?"

Peter's eyes hardened, and he pushed Tony away as he got up. Tony scrambled up and followed him.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now? I'm not fucking high." He was pacing, and he was nervous, and angry, and _high_. It was so obvious now. And just to make sure...

"FRIDAY?" 

"Yes, Boss?"

"Is the kid on drugs?" 

Peter rolled his eyes. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I have completed the scan and it seems that Peter currently has drugs in his system, taken approximately twenty minuted ago," FRIDAY's voice sounded. 

Tony once read that anger usually isn't the best way to go about situations like this, because children are usually at their most vulnerable and that talking calmly to them is the ideal way to handle situations like this. That's the way Pepper handled him. That's the way Rhodey handled him. It worked. Tony knew it worked. But looking at his kid, standing with his arms crossed in front of him, high as motherfucking kite, all he could see was red. 

"I can't believe you just did that," Peter said, breaking the silence. Wrong thing to say. 

"Oh, so I shouldn't ask FRIDAY to confirm if you're high in my fucking house? Which you are, by the way. Care to explain that?"

A groan escaped Peter's lips. "You're fucking crazy, old man."

"Excuse me?!"

"It's not like people don't get high all the fucking time. It's fucking fun!" He was gesturing wildly, everywhere, his hands flailing like that's going to make his point any more valid. He vaguely gestures in Tony's direction before continuing. "And honestly, you shouldn't be talking."

"Those are two widely different things and you know it."

"You're such a fucking hypocrite, you know that? As if you didn't go on three-day benders and snort cocaine like it was air."

"Exactly! Why do you think what you did was so fucking irresponsible?!" Tony snapped, slamming his hand on a wall; Peter flinched and looked away, but Tony wouldn't let himself feel guilty. He took a shuddering breath before continuing. "We have a recovering addict in this house, Peter. A recovering addict with PTSD and barely half of a fucking support system. And you thought it was okay to bring drugs into this house?! You thought it was okay to take them like it wouldn't _hurt_ me?"

"Yeah, because it's always about you, right? Always, always, always." Peter said, taunting. Snapping. Jabbing with the intention of hurting. "Like I'm not going through shit, too. Fucking hell."

"Don't twist my words around. You know that's not what I fucking meant."

Peter scoffed. "You know, it's no wonder I turned out like this with a fucking role model like you."

Tony tried to keep a blank face, but honestly? That hurt. A lot. 

His lack of response did nothing but anger Peter, his face red and jaw clenched. 

"Why aren't you talking, hm? Cat got your motherfucking tongue?"

Tony turned away, tears forming in his eyes. 

"Answer me! Why aren't you saying anything?!" Peter screamed, tears forming in his eyes. 

"Peter, please calm down."

"Don't tell me to fucking calm _down_!" The end of the sentence came out as a sob rather than a scream, and a part of Tony's chest collapsed within itself. 

"God, Pete-"

"_Stop!_ Just stop it! Stop _talking!"_ he screamed, thrashing around. He grabbed the nearest object he could find- a vase, glass- and threw it on the floor in front of Tony. _"Stop it!"_

He was sobbing now, clutching at his stomach with one hand and his fist in his mouth in the other. "You did this to me."

Tony didn't know what he was doing, but all he knew was his kid was crying and hurting and he needed to get to him, so he took a step forward and ignored the pain shooting up his leg; he had to get to Peter, he had to, and if that meant stepping on glass, then he was going to step on some motherfucking glass.

But before he could take another step Peter was screaming. "Get away! Get away from me!" Peter was wrecked, and he couldn't tell if he didn't want him to come closer because he didn't want him to get hurt, or simply because he couldn't stand him. He raised his hands in surrender. 

That didn't satisfy Peter; he took a piece of glass and pointed at Tony, crazed and threatening. "Get _back_!"

So Tony did what he was told and stepped back, away from the glass. "Peter, put that down."

"Why? You're not my fucking father to tell me what to fucking do! I already had one of those and he died! I got another one and he died, too! _On my fucking watch!"_

"I understand-"

"Oh, really?" Peter replied, his face sadistic. And before Tony could really process it, he slashed the bandages on his wrists twice, bloodying the glass- all the while, his eyes on Tony's. 

"You have no fucking idea," he started. "Not a single fucking one! Newsflash, Tony: I don't need a _fucking_ dad. I already had two of those and they're dead! So just fucking leave me alone!"

He was panting; they both were, but Tony didn't care as he looked as the kid. 

His kid. In front of him. Panting like he just ran a marathon, snot and tears running down his blotchy face, hair matted and sticky, bleeding (bleeding, god, _bleeding_) from either the cuts on his wrists or from where the glass was penetrating his palm. That's all he could see. Blood, running down the boy's arm and dripping onto the floor, and he couldn't get to him with the bridge of glass between them. 

And all he could think was, _how did we get here?_

* * *

Peter couldn't pull away from Tony. Who had tears streaming down at his face profusely, like they had their own will. Who had blood pouring from his foot and creating a pool around him. A distant part of him knew Tony should sit down, nurse the wound, but he wouldn't tell him that. He couldn't. Not after all of this. 

He looked down at his arm, which was bleeding, too. He dropped the glass piece he was holding and bit down at his lips at the sudden pain.

And all he could think was, _what did I do?_

* * *

Peter grabbed his shoes and walked out the door before Tony could even think to call him back.

**Author's Note:**

> i know i haven't updated any of my WIPs the entire summer but here's this! and yes i'm projecting but i'm fine so please dw. most of what happened is fiction anyway so. 
> 
> oh and i didn't edit this oops
> 
> please stay safe. 
> 
> kudos and comment?
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
